


Junk in the Trunk

by memorizingthedigitsofpi



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Brotp, Comedy, F/M, Fluff, Pre-Season 1, Sci-Ops Era (Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.), oh the bickering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 05:38:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5445233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memorizingthedigitsofpi/pseuds/memorizingthedigitsofpi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>FitzSimmons are stuck in a jam, and things are looking dark. Without much wiggle room to work with, will they be able to boot it out of there in time?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Junk in the Trunk

"I may never forgive you for this," Fitz spat out acidly. Then he continued to spit because he couldn't seem to get Jemma's hair out of his mouth, no matter what he tried.

"Forgiveness is the least of my worries at the moment, Fitz," Jemma shot back just as peevishly. His knee was pressing on her bladder in such a way that she was feeling an increasingly urgent need to pee.

"Oh, _aye_ ," he agreed vehemently. "The zipties around my wrists are definitely _my_ number one, just now," he said. He tried once more to shimmy his hands and shoulders around behind him to feel out any potential sharp objects to cut through the stubborn plastic, but everything he did seemed to cause him pain in one part of his body or another.

"Let me try biting it," Jemma suggested. She started to inch herself down his torso, pressing herself against his chest and pushing off with her head and chin to move herself downward.

"What are you-?" Fitz asked, aghast at her shuffling. "You'll _never_ get your mouth down there," he scoffed. "And even if you _could_ , it's not like I've any space to turn over so you can reach the bloody thing."

Jemma panted and rested her cheek against his shirt pocket. "You're right, of course," she nodded, thinking carefully. "What are we _missing_?"

Fitz frowned and squinted, trying to figure it out. "Inventory?" he finally suggested.

"Brilliant."

"Right," he nodded, even though Jemma couldn't see it in the pitch black of their confined space. "I've got... uh... wallet, watch, keys..." he trailed off trying to think. They'd nicked his phone, of course, but otherwise left him surprisingly well off. 

"And I've got..." Jemma huffed out a breath and tried to shift away from Fitz. It was sweltering and his deodorant was definitely wearing off. "Umm... also keys, and my necklace and earrings, a belt..."

"No super agent pocket knife then?" Fitz blew out a humourless chuckle. He let his head drop back in hopelessness and immediately regretted it when his skull came in sharp contact with a crowbar. "Found a prybar," he groaned, wishing his hands were free so that he could rub the bump on the back of his head. Of course, if his hands were free, they wouldn't be in their current mess. 

"Where?" Jemma asked eagerly. They could maybe use that to force the lock on the boot lid and finally get out of there.

"Right under my head," Fitz said dryly. "So unless you're secretly a contortionist, I don't think we can add it to our inventory."

Jemma sighed and squirmed some more. "Could you move your knee, please?" she asked pointedly. "It's making a bad situation even worse."

Fitz shifted his leg two inches to the left. He tried turning his hip. He twisted his foot and slid along on his bum almost half a foot, but nothing seemed to make much of a difference. "That's the best I can do," he apologized. "Am I hurting you?"

"Not _hurting_ no," Jemma said wryly. "But getting out of this mess quickly would be nice, or else we'll have another mess in here with us."

"Wha-?" Fitz started to ask before realizing. "Ohhh. Right. Gotcha."

Jemma sighed and resigned herself to the discomfort. "I think I see what people mean about us being too comfortable with each other," she joked.

Fitz smiled back. Then, remembering that she had no way of knowing that, he said, "They might have a point, yes."

"If only we did," Jemma rolled her eyes at her own pun. "How do we not have a single sharp thing between the pair of us?" she asked rhetorically.

"I mean... our intellects?" Fitz kidded. "But yeah. Rotten luck, them actually searching us."

"I suppose it _is_ their job."

"Doesn't mean they have to be _good_ at it."

"True. But given their profession, being _bad_ at it tends to lead to... early retirement."

"You mean death?"

"I mean death."

"Right."

"Yes."

Fitz tried wriggling his wrists again to see if he could get any play at all in the zip ties that bound him, but to no avail. "Why couldn't they just use handcuffs like normal people?" he asked in frustration. "I'd have been able to get out of _those_ in _seconds_."

Jemma snorted derisively. "Have a lot of experience with handcuffs do you?" she teased.

"Now, now," Fitz admonished her. "Have I been saying a word about the way you're all over me right now? No. Because I, unlike you, am a _gentleman_."

Jemma let out a squeak of annoyance. " _All over you_?" she asked in that high pitched voice she got when she was particularly annoyed. "I was _thrown_ on top of you, _Leo_ ," she barbed. "And the only reason I'm still here is because this trunk is less than 3 cubic metres large and there's _literally_ nowhere else I can be!" She tried to take a deep breath to keep scolding him, but only got a mouthful of her own hair for her troubles.

"And who's fault _is_ that, though?" Fitz asked pointedly. "Not mine!"

"I didn't _force_ you into this trunk with me!"

"You as much as _did_!"

"Oh, and how did I manage _that_ , then?"

"You said, _and I quote_ ," he adopted an overly feminine tone with a terribly-enacted Sheffield accent. "Oh, Fitz! It'll be _so_ exciting! Imagine the possibilities!"

"I do _not_ sound like that!" Jemma struggled to get as far away from him as she could in the tiny space around them. It wasn't far. "And if I'd had _any_ idea how terribly you'd smell, I'd have given it up before we even started!"

" _I_ smell?" Fitz repeated, totally offended. " _Me_?"

"Yes! Y-"

Jemma stopped short mid-word as she was blinded by sunlight. Squinting her eyes against the sudden brightness, she looked sheepishly up into the face of Agent Willis.

"Times up," Willis said, looking down at them with the utmost disappointment. "Did you even _try_ to lift the carpet?"

"The carpet?" Fitz asked, face scrunched up to protect his eyes.

Willis shook his head. "I thought you were supposed to know cars," he said, completely mystified.

"Well, I can take an engine apart and put it back together of an afternoon," Fitz said with a grunt as he attempted to sit upright. "But I can't say I know much about carpets and boots."

"If you'd be so kind," Jemma said primly, wiggling her fingers behind her back. Once Willis had cut her ties, she brought them around in front of her and shook the feeling back into them. She swung around on her bum, getting her legs up and over the edge of the boot and then pushing herself up and out of the car.

"Lil help?" Fitz asked, still trussed up inside.

Willis cut him loose as well and closed his eyes in pain as Fitz fell several times trying to get out.

"So, I'm guessing we've failed?" Jemma asked, her back straight and her face impassive. She'd never failed anything in her life before now, and she didn't like the feeling. Not at all.

Willis stared at her, not believing she needed him to say it. Recovering himself, he nodded and said simply, "Yes." All of the various elaborations he thought to add would be too unprofessional. No matter how well-deserved.

"Right, then," Jemma nodded and started to walk stiffly away.

"About that carpet," Fitz said, looking at Willis curiously.

"Fitz!" Jemma called over her shoulder.

"Later," Fitz said before dashing off to catch her up.

"That was just..." Jemma started, her shoulders slumping in defeat.

"A poor first attempt," Fitz nodded and bumped her shoulder with his own.

"First attempt?" Jemma said, looking at him hopefully.

"Well," Fitz shrugged. "We're not Ops agents. We've not had their training," he said practically. "It stands to reason we'll need a few runs at it before we can pass our field assessment."

Jemma's face broadened in a wide smile. "I couldn't agree more."


End file.
